Four Times Charles and Erik Almost Kissed
by alishatorn
Summary: ...and one time they finally did.


I. The first time, inexplicably, is when Charles becomes acquainted with the machine that is Cerebro.

He's wearing the damned bowl on his head and Erik is grinning broadly. "What an adorable lab rat you make, my friend," he says.

"Don't ruin this for me, Erik," Charles warns, but he's grinning as well, and he looks for all the world like a schoolboy loose in a candy shop.

Raven's hovering over Hank while he manipulates the controls, and it doesn't matter really, because Charles only has eyes for the man in front of him. He's not reading Erik right now, doesn't need to, but he's filled with the urge to occupy a space in Erik's mind nonetheless.

Erik is standing quite close to him, blue eyes studying him intensely and the only thing separating them is the thick metal rail. It feels quite warm under his palms suddenly, and they shiver a little, as if involuntarily.

Charles raises an eyebrow and Erik shrugs, reaching over to flick a stray curl off of Charle's forehead. He opens his mouth to say something (anything), but the hum of the machine rises behind him and then power builds in the back of his lids, and suddenly, suddenly, he's gone.

Charles feels the rush of power as his reach is magnified a thousandfold, the connection to each mutant mind that shines brightly in a sea of the mundane. He finds them, sees them all, unable to control it, unable to quell the pained/startled/elated gasp that issues from his lips.

Dimly, he hears people shouting in the background (is it in his? or in Kenya/Ireland/Canada/all the other places where every other mutant is in?). He's picking out locations, he knows he is, brainwaves sending coordinates to Hank's machine, and he thinks he should stop now, perhaps reign it in, but he can't.

The information comes to him in waves and he can't stop it because his mind is splayed open, and somewhere in another world (his body?), his hands have gripped the metal rail so tightly that his knuckles have gone white.

"Charles!"

The voice is low, urgent, and his own name echoes in his mind like a stone casting a ripple on a lake. He realizes who he is then, pulling himself back from the multitude of minds with great difficulty.

He focuses on one, just one in particular, the brightest mind of them all, and he feels Erik in his head, feels his fear and the hammering of his heart.

When Charles sees again, (with his eyes in his head in his body), he's staring into Erik's face.

He blinks.

"You're back," the other man says, relief evident in his voice. He's got both hands on either sides of Charles' face and is staring quite deeply into his eyes.

In spite of himself, Charles colors. "And so I am," he says. "And in one piece."

He doesn't move to disengage and Erik looks like he's forgotten to breathe somehow, and Charles thinks that something important is happening but can't quite place what.

Then Hank clears his throat (Raven elbows him sharply in the ribs), and the moment is broken.

Erik steps back as if nothing has happened, Charles remembers how to breathe again, and he forces himself to smile.

"Shall we try again?"

II. The second time happens when they're ensconced at the Westchester estate.

Charles has lived up to his title, and everyone steadily improves. Havoc's managed to hit his mark two times out of five, and Banshee's almost flying. Erik is another matter entirely, as he seems intent on pushing himself- both physically and mentally- but can't quite seem to figure out how.

He joins Charles once, on an afternoon run, and they're almost evenly matched despite Erik's longer stride. As they near their appointed finish line, (a fern growing somewhat crookedly by the main gate), Charles sends a burst of emotion to Erik that throws him off just enough for Charles to pull ahead.

He's laughing breathlessly as he slows to a halt, panting. Erik joins him a moment later, shaking his head. "You," he says, between taking great lungfuls of air. "You cheated!"

Charles straightens, clapping him on the back. "I did," he says. He's quite unable to remove the smirk from his face.

He watches as Erik visibly reigns himself in, studying the memory that he's been given. It's not much, just a burst of what Charles was feeling as he ran, but he sees the interplay of thoughts running across the other man's features.

Erik closes his eyes.

He knows it's not his, it can't be, but it feels so much like his own memory save for the fact that everything seems just a little brighter around the edges. There's gravel crunching beneath his feet, sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades, and there's a pleasant ache in his side from the exertion of the run. His eyes are on the goal, always there, except for one brief flash when it isn't, and he sees himself through Charles' eyes for the first time. Because Charles glances at him while they run and the accompanying burst of affection and… something else… makes his (or Charles'?) breath catch in his throat.

He exhales slowly, sees Charles watching him intently, and shrugs.

"Are you all right?" Charles asks. "I apologize if…" And he makes a waggling motion with his fingers. "I mussed you up a bit more than intended."

But Erik shakes his head. He never does anything small, he knows that, and his smile is broad and more than a little ridiculous. He takes a step closer to Charles and looks down at him, delighted when he doesn't step back.

He takes Charles by the elbow, and he's so close that he can see the sweat on his brow and his pupils begin to dilate. "You know, I could stand with a bit more mussing—"

Unfortunately, Charles doesn't get to hear the rest of his (rather suave) speech, as Banshee streaks past them in a blur of grey sweats and yellow stripes, landing in a heap on the gravel path.

Charles gives Erik an apologetic glance before rushing off to see if the boy is injured, and Erik swears softly under his breath. Xavier's been wonderful with helping him in his attempts at flight, but Erik thinks that he's ready for some tougher love.

He eyes the satellite dish in the distance and smiles.

III. The third time is when it's Erik's turn to face the satellite dish, and he can almost swear that this is Charles' way of getting back at him for what he did to Banshee. He confirms this when he feels Charles' smirk on the edges of his consciousness.

"You can't be serious," he says.

The satellite dish is blurred in the distance; he can barely feel the metal with his mind, never mind manipulating it to do anything. He tries anyway, because Charles asks him to, and pulls and pulls with all his might but the dish remains immovable.

"I can't," he gasps finally, releasing it. "It's too big."

But Charles smiles. "You know, I believe that true focus lies somewhere between rage and serenity," he says. "Would you mind if I…?"

Erik nods without hesitation.

Charles presses two fingers to his temples and just like that, he's in his mind. He's been there before, but Erik is still surprised to find that he isn't more distraught about not being alone in his own head.

/What are you doing, Charles?/ he thinks, but Charles just shakes his head.

He feels him then, a presence blanketing him in warmth, seeping into every corner and bringing light inside of him. His memories of vengeance and blood are opened and gently nudged aside, and Erik is ashamed of them suddenly, frightened of what Charles will say when he sees the men he's killed.

But Charles says nothing, merely blankets those memories as he does the rest, his presence echoing in the caverns of Erik's mind.

Everything happens in an eyeblink but the silence stretches on; it isn't until he finds himself thinking of his mother- his dear, sweet mother, singing to him gently as a boy- that he realizes that Charles is still there.

"What did you just do to me?" he asks, voice rough with wonder.

"I accessed the brightest corner of your memory system," Charles replies. His eyes are bright with tears. "It's a very beautiful memory, Erik. Thank you."

"I didn't know I still had that." He realizes belatedly that his face is wet.

Charles' hand curls loosely on his wrist. "There's so much more to you than you know," he says. "Not just pain and anger… there's good, too. I felt it. When you access all of that, you will possess a power that no one can match. Not even me."

He squeezes gently, currents of warmth radiating from his palm, then lets go. "So come on. Try again?"

This time, when he tries to move the dish, it follows unresistingly. He's unable to stop the manic laughter that bubbles up inside of him when he executes a full turn, catching Charles as he claps him on the back.

"Excellent work, my friend," he says, smiling broadly.

And if there was ever a perfect moment, Erik figures that this is it- the world is at his fingertips and Charles- Charles is everything. He's close, so achingly close now and his eyes are fluttering shut and abruptly finds himself leaning in towards air. Because Charles has turned away just as a window slams open, and Moira (he's never liked her, and now he knows why) sticks her head out and calls them inside.

"The president's about to make his address!"

Erik frowns; Charles squeezes his shoulder before he leads him back inside.

IV. The fourth time is on the eve of battle.

Erik knows the part he's supposed to play tomorrow, and with it comes the reality that he may very likely not survive the day. He knows this and accepts it. His entire life has been dedicated to finding Shaw, hunting him down, and if it comes down it, he would gladly give his life to have the man breathe his last.

Still, it is with some measure of regret that he listens to Charles tonight, talking animatedly about his plans for the future.

"This could be so much more," he says, smiling widely. "We could be a safe haven for mutants, take them in and teach them to control their gifts. We could… we could help so many people, Erik."

He regrets this because he may not be around for Charles' 'future', and he moves his rook across the board and tells him so.

"You'll be there," Charles says with certainty. "I'll make sure of it."

He deftly moves his knight, and though bereft of a queen, he manages to turn the tables on Erik once more. Erik looks at him in surprise.

"I didn't see that," he says.

"Not many men would," Charles returns, grinning somewhat saucily.

The clock chimes nine and Erik can feel the metal cogs turning inexorably forward, grinding seconds into minute into hours. He steels himself, then opens his mouth to speak.

"Charles, I—" But Xavier reaches out, placing his hand gently above Erik's.

"Tomorrow," he says. "Erik, whatever you have to say, say it tomorrow."

Erik stares at their clasped hands, unsurprised when he feels Charles moving in his mind. He sends him an idea, a thought of the school he intends to build. He sees children moving through the halls, Charles behind a desk, himself in the field, surrounded by light.

It's breathtaking.

"Tomorrow," he agrees, and Charles smiles.

"It's something to look forward to," he says. "So you'd best make sure you don't get yourself killed any time soon."

Erik chuckles, and Charles sends a pulse of warmth before retreating fully.

They play chess for the rest of the night.

V. When it happens at last, Erik is holding Charles on the beach, debris smouldering around them in a tableau of fire and ash. He is broken; the bruise on his jaw already darkening, blood pooling on the sand beneath them.

Dimly, Erik registers bringing Moira to her knees, but he can't stop looking at Charles, can't stop seeing his stricken eyes. "She did this," he says, over and over, like a song devoid of music.

But Charles won't let him escape into that fantasy, and his voice, though shaking with pain, is still clear. "She didn't do this, Erik," he whispers. "You did."

So Erik lets her go (he never has a choice, not with Charles), and in the distance the gunships still move, across the oceans the humans still plan their demise, and nothing has changed, nothing at all, except for the fact that his heart is in pieces in the dirt.

"Us turning on each other, it's what they want," he says, desperately. He's lost him, he knows he has, but has to try. "I tried to warn you, Charles.'

'I want you by my side." Erik puts a hand over his friend's heart, holds it there. "We're brothers, you and I. We want the same thing."

Somehow, Charles finds a place inside himself that feels no pain. If he crumbles now, he knows that the world will be over. Shaw's future, with all the pain and the blood and the misery, will come to pass. As strongly as he feels about Erik, as much as he wants to go with him, he cannot let that happen.

He must not.

So he forces a laugh, grits his teeth against the agony, and grips Erik's hand. "My friend, I'm sorry," he says. "But we do not."

Charles' eyes are wet and Erik almost can't bear to keep looking at him. He's still wearing the helmet, but Charles doesn't need to project for Erik to know that he's thinking /stay/.

The kiss, when it happens, is everything and nothing that Erik thought it would be. It's sweet and chaste and painful all at once, and Charles is shaking in his arms but his hand is vise-like on Erik's shoulder.

It's a promise, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Erik conjures the fantasy where Xavier's school has become so much more and he's still part of it all.

It's regret, because the fantasy has turned to ash and Erik knows it will never happen, not with him.

It's goodbye, because the lines are being drawn in the sand today, and they're on opposite sides.

When they part, he can see himself reflected in Charles' gaze. He wonders if this is how he looked when his mother died, how he /really/ looked, under all the rage.

He signals Moira and she comes forward and takes Charles from him, cradling him. He stands apart then, forcing himself to stand tall, to be strong, and the remainder of Shaw's team and Mystique join him.

The rest of them won't even meet his eyes.

When Azazel spirits them away, the last memory he takes with him is of Charles, lying in the sand.

It's as if he's left a piece of himself behind.

#

EPILOGUE

It's years later when Erik finally comes home.

There is no special occasion to mark his return, no great tragedy that ends in fire and blood. Emma is making a report of their latest conquest; an anti-mutant base successfully taken apart by the brotherhood. Magneto listens to her words without really hearing them; he takes no joy from the news.

He's tired.

"Leave me," he tells her.

He locks the door behind her with a flick of his wrist, hesitating only slightly before reaching up to touch his helm. He slides it off slowly, feeling the cool air on his cheeks and dampness on his face. It's been so long.

/Are you there, Charles?/ he thinks to himself. /Are you still looking for me?/

There's no answer, of course there isn't. Far too much time has passed.

Erik keeps the helm off anyway.

The only person he speaks to before he leaves is Mystique. She's resting, when he enters her room, raising a brow when she sees him without his helmet. He doesn't ask her to go with him; she's pregnant with Azazel's child, and he hopes they'll find a home without the brotherhood.

"Goodbye," he says, simply.

Raven's eyes widen and her hands go to her stomach, as if suddenly, suddenly there is hope again. Open war is no place for a child.

"Thank you," she whispers, but he's already gone.

Erik takes the chopper to Westchester, fingers caressing the controls. There is so much to atone for, so much he has to do, but everything else can wait. A strange calm settles over his mind as he pushes the chopper as fast as it will go, and he remembers an echo of a memory; the place between rage and serenity.

Before long, he sees a glimpse of the mansion in the distance. It's dimly lit, cast in oranges and golds by the setting sun. He thinks he's never seen anything so beautiful.

When he lands, Charles is waiting for him.

He sees children pause their play in the courtyard, the older ones staring at him in fear. Hank starts towards him, but stops in mid-step, as if hearing a psychic command.

Erik has eyes only for Charles.

He's sitting at the top of the stairs, hands folded carefully over his lap. He's in the wheelchair, and Erik had known about this, had heard about it from Emma, but it's the first time he sees it in real life and something tightens in his chest, painful and bright.

"You knew I was coming," he says, when he comes to a stop before him.

Charles gives him a small, secret smile. "I've known since you took off the helmet," he admits. "I've never stopped searching for you, Erik."

Erik reaches out then, unable to help himself, and cups Charles' face in his hands. The other man allows it, turns into his touch even, and this is finally what breaks him, this little inconsequential gesture that means everything and more.

He falls to his knees before Charles, arms tight around his waist, his face wet with years of regret. "I'm sorry," he whispers, over and over and over, and Charles bows his head, returning his embrace just as tightly.

"It's forgotten," he whispers. "My friend, you will always be welcome here."

He feels it then, the tentative touch of Charles' mind against his, the first time in four years that he's felt him inside. Erik opens to it, welcomes his touch, unable to stop the soft gasp that issues from his lips.

It's everything he ever lost that day on the beach, everything and more, and Erik's been in pieces for so long that he scarcely remembers what it's like to be whole again.

/Welcome back, my love,/ comes Charles' voice inside his mind, and Erik shudders.

He's finally home.

#


End file.
